Pomegranate

Working the water-line the apple haunts the edge of—
 
A shard of selenite is said to clear negativity. 
Like a stained glass window.
 
Against the rules, we coupled on your grandmother’s floor.
 
Write it the way a Painted Lady explosion
erases it.  Five minutes ago.
 
Thus, you grow faint like bioluminescence.
 
Pouring what I know into small vials.  Back and forth.
Blur the field to include not-seeing. 
 
When we were a potted plant or something.
Halved pomegranate knocked against a bowl.
 
Thus, is every tree wild?
 
Caretaker,
so what if they do not look back at you—
 

Mary Cisper, "Pomegranate." Copyright © 2018 Mary Cisper. Used by permission of the author for PoetryNow, a partnership between the Poetry Foundation and the WFMT Radio Network.
Source: PoetryNow (2018)